


your humble and silky life

by moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Botanical Garden, Alternate Universe - No Exy (All For The Game), Cats, Friendship, M/M, Matchmaking, Spring, Tea, Tumblr Fic Giveaway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 06:37:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18463502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: Jean’s life these days is quiet, uneventful. His best friend has a hopeless crush on the unattainable Minyard, Jean’s colleague at the botanical garden. Jean has a standing appointment every week with the most beautiful woman in the world, who is happily married to someone else—but that’s okay. There’s still Jeremy the waiter, whose smile is the highlight of Jean’s week.





	your humble and silky life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuzzballsheltiepants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/gifts).



> This is the first of two fics that I wrote for a fic giveaway in honour of reaching 1000 followers on Tumblr. I asked for a prompt, a tea, and the recipient's favourite colour, and Alexis gave me the delightful prompt of "neil & jean friendship supporting each other through their crushes (andrew & jeremy or renee respectively)" as well as chai for the tea and teal or hunter green for the colour.
> 
> The title is from the Mary Oliver poem "Peonies".

“Have you talked to him yet?”

Neil startles and topples backwards off his precarious perch on one of the lower branches of a magnolia tree. Jean folds a little smirk into the very corners of his mouth—it’s Neil’s own fault for being distracted, but Jean is a merciful man at heart and not above offering him a hand up. Neil, true to his own contrary nature, simply glares at it and pushes himself up without help.

“I hate it when you sneak up on me,” he grumbles. His jeans are grass-stained, like skinned knees but green, and he has a leaf stuck in his hair.

“Oh, but you are so very easy to sneak up on when you’re spying on him.”

“I wasn’t spying. Just… observing. From a distance.”

“Mm, right. That’s why you climbed this tree even though the sign expressly says not to,” Jean says.

“I have dyslexia,” Neil tries. Even if Jean were capable of believing his bullshit anymore, the sheepish expression would give him away.

“What you have is an acute case of infatuation,” Jean sighs. He wonders if he should pluck the stray leaf from Neil’s hair but decides it looks rather charming amid the riot of curls that spill out from underneath Neil’s grey beanie hat. (Technically that’s Jean’s grey beanie hat, but Jean is still waiting for Neil to admit he stole it, so he can then gracefully forgive him for it. Or cash in a favour in penance, if he happens to need one.)

“Pot, kettle,” Neil shrugs, waving his hand around. “Speaking of kettles, I could use a cup of tea.”

Jean sighs again to express his distaste of Neil’s behaviour, but he can’t really argue with tea. There’s a small kitchen in the back of the nearby building that houses greenhouse four and they pass Minyard on their way over, which is probably why Neil suggested it. In fact, it is entirely possible he stationed himself in this very magnolia tree just so that they would end up on this particular route past Minyard’s arboretum—for all his disorganised, devil-may-care attitude, Neil is a very calculating man.

“Minyard,” Jean says as they walk past, nodding at his colleague. They don’t usually say hello, but the fact that Jean acknowledged his existence will signal to Neil that Jean has penetrated his grand masterplan, whilst also being subtle enough that Neil cannot call him out on anything.

Minyard does not return the favour. He looks up briefly from where he’s pruning an old maple tree and scowls. It must be sweaty work, or else he’s misplaced his shirt—his shoulders and upper arms are bare, muscles bulging beautifully under pale, dirt-speckled skin. It is a damp, chilly day for spring; mist hangs like cobwebs amid the trees. Jean suppresses a shiver at Minyard’s semi-clothed state, but takes a while to hunt around for his keys so that Neil can have a good, long look.

“Jeremy asked me for your number the other day,” Neil says without preamble when they are safely inside the kitchen.

“He thinks he is funny,” Jean scoffs.

“I told him he has to ask you himself,” Neil hums. Jean feels a flicker of gratitude, until Neil ruins it by adding: “I also said not to worry and that you wanted to climb him like a tree. Hopefully he took the hint.”

“Thanks,” Jean says dryly, still staring into the open cupboard.

“You’re welcome,” Neil grins.

Jean doesn’t ask what tea Neil would like. There’s a battered little tin hidden behind a box of artificial sweetener that no one ever uses, filled with a fragrant green chai. It packs enough of a gingery, peppery punch that it just about appeases both of their spice-attuned palates, and the unusual twist of spearmint adds a refreshing touch. Neil brought it back from London last month, and they’ve almost gone through the entire bag between them.

“How are the plants?” Neil asks, hoisting himself up to sit on the table. Jean talks a little about last week’s frost and the new saplings they got in this morning while he boils water and prepares the teapot. Neil half-heartedly hunts for the last of the salted caramel cookies they’ve stashed behind the broken microwave, humming every time Jean pauses in his musings, but really he’s just watching Minyard through the window.

“You will break your neck if you twist it any further,” Jean tells him, setting a cup down by his side and plucking the box of cookies out of his hand.

“Aw, are you worried about me?” Neil grins and snags one of the cookies before Jean can pull them entirely out of his reach.

“Have you slept today?” Jean shoots back.

“Yes,” Neil says. “Maybe. A little. Okay, no, not really. I zoned out for a bit on the tram?”

“Eaten anything?”

Neil holds up what’s left of his cookie.

“Please tell me you at least had some water.”

Neil grabs his cup of tea, salutes him with it and demonstratively knocks it back, smacking his lips. Jean pushes his fingers under the pads of his glasses and massages the bridge of his nose.

“I swear you are like a filthy street cat,” he mutters. “I’ve no idea how you’ve survived this long on your own. Someone should probably take you home, bathe and feed you and never let you out of their sight again.”

“Hmm,” Neil sighs, already looking out of the window again.

Jean boils more water for tea and pokes around the dinky fridge. There’s an unclaimed yoghurt at the back that’s only marginally past its expiry date. It will have to do until Jean gets off work and can force a proper meal down his friend—and if they just so happen to end up at the diner where Jeremy works, well. Jean would not complain.

*

“If it isn’t my favourite Frenchman,” Jeremy grins, clicking his pen. He leans in to whisper conspiratorially: “Hot date tonight, eh?”

“Aw, Jeremy,” Neil croons. “You really think I’m hot?”

“A hot mess, maybe,” Jean mutters uncharitably. Jeremy laughs the way he always does—too bold, too loud, too bright; like winter sunshine and spilled soda. It always sounds indecent somehow. A joyfully naked laugh.

“What can I get you tonight? Other than your customary pot of pitch black?”

Jeremy is referring to their coffee order. He’s put it on the menu under the quirky name The Void in Neil and Jean’s honour, but it hasn’t really caught on yet. Most things served in the diner are either unnecessarily sweet or greasy or both, and the regulars prefer it that way.

“The elderflower pancakes,” Jean says. “With pear compote on the side. And Neil will have the Full English, he’s about ten hours overdue for breakfast.”

It’s a calculated and underhanded move. Jeremy instantly goes into mom friend mode and Neil shoots a betrayed look at Jean, who leans back to enjoy the show. Twenty minutes later, two piping hot plates sit between them, Neil’s piled with about two breakfasts’ worth of food and Jean’s an artful arrangement of sweet, fragrant elderflower clusters dipped in pancake dough and fried to perfection. A bowl of pear compote and a tiny jug of elderflower syrup complement the arrangement, and Jean takes a moment to appreciate the fact that his favourite dish is finally back in season.

The diner is getting busier, but Jeremy still finds the time to dip over to their booth, refill their coffee and exchange chit-chat. Neil polishes off his entire plate of breakfast foods at the speed of light while Jean is content to chip away slowly at his pancakes, savouring each bite.

“Be right back,” Neil announces just as Jeremy is on his way over again. He zips to the counter to talk to Alvarez—who even knows what these two have in common, and Jean shudders to think what mayhem they might be concocting between them, but he is too distracted by Jeremy sliding into Neil’s abandoned seat to chaperone the unholy union.

“So, how have you been?” Jeremy asks, knotting his fingers together on the table.

“Well,” Jean says. “Thank you.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Jean clears his throat awkwardly.

“Listen—about what Neil said to you the other day…”

“Oh,” Jeremy laughs. “Oh, don’t worry. I know he was just joking.”

“Well, as a matter of fact…”

Jean tries to disentangle the words that grow like weeds in his mouth, but before he can finish, Laila calls Jeremy back into the kitchen. He flashes Jean an apologetic smile and then he’s gone, leaving Jean with his lukewarm coffee and the last trickle of syrup left on his plate.

*

“Again? You broke in again?”

“It was quicker than going all the way round to the front.”

Jean sighs and shuts away the last of his equipment. Neil waits for him, picking at the newly ripped fabric of his jeans and inspecting a shallow cut on his hand.

“I gave you a year pass for a reason, you know,” Jean huffs. “And Boyd lets you through without a ticket every time anyway. One day you are going to get yourself skewered on that fence and I will be the one who has to cut down your corpse with a chainsaw.”

“Charming,” Neil quips. Jean leads him over to the cupboard with the first aid supplies and makes quick work of cleaning and wrapping his hand for him.

“Come on. Tea.”

They leave the greenhouse and cut through the healing herb plot, one of Jean’s favourite spots in the botanical garden. The herbs are planted along a labyrinth, laying out a meditative path to an old willow in the centre. The weather is sour today, half sunshine half clouds, the sky a frothing, fermenting broth like juice gone bad. A spray of rain sweeps the garden as they walk and Neil tucks his chin under his jacket collar and pulls his shoulders up like they’ll protect his ears from the damp.

The door to the kitchen is already unlocked. Jean ushers Neil inside and nearly walks into him as he freezes on the threshold. It’s only Minyard at the table, so Jean gives him a gentle shove and closes the door against the rain.

“What are those,” Neil asks, sounding stunned. Jean turns around and sees that Minyard has what looks like two small black holes in his lap, wrapped in an old floral tea towel. He’s feeding them kitten formula with a dropper and glaring daggers at Jean and Neil.

What a peculiar sight.

“Cats,” Minyard finally says. “Little pests that ruin furniture and lives. You might have heard of them.”

“But,” Neil says dumbly. “They’re so. Small?”

A soggy cardboard box is on the table, next to a cup of hot water that Minyard is using to warm the formula. Jean peers inside the box and spots another tiny black body, this one ominously still.

“What about him?” he asks.

“Dead,” Minyard says. Then, somewhat sullenly, he adds: “I didn’t kill it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The kittens squirm and mewl in his lap. Neil crouches down in front of him and reverently reaches out a finger to smooth it over the kittens’ little heads. They don’t look too dirty, just—well. Minuscule.

“Do you think these two will make it?”

Minyard doesn’t say anything, but the intense look in his eyes as he squeezes another drop of milk down one of the kittens’ mouths says something along the lines of _They better will, or else_.

Jean looks back to the third one, slumped in a corner of the box like it just collapsed under the sheer strain of being alive. A sudden sadness creeps up on him like lichen and he closes the box. What a pointless waste of a precious, miraculous little life.

“It says here you need to burp them, like a human baby,” Neil says, scrolling through something on his phone. “Try patting them on the back. But like, super gently.”

Jean doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything quite so hysterical as surly, burly Andrew Minyard awkwardly patting a tiny kitten to make it burp. Neil looks like he’s never seen anything quite so magnificent, and Jean has a small stroke of genius.

“You should take them to a vet,” he tells Minyard. “I have a prior engagement, but Neil could come with you and help. You need someone to look after them while you drive.”

Neil’s face is impassive, but the look he gives Jean is both terrified and elated at the concept of getting into Minyard’s wet dream of a car whilst being in charge of two blind, whimpering, helpless creatures. Minyard looks less than thrilled at the prospect but seems to relent out of necessity. Although it is, of course, possible—if improbable—that Minyard harbours a secret and hitherto unrevealed interest in Neil as well.

“It is settled then,” Jean says.

*

His prior engagement involves a long walk that leads him past Renaissance, a booming little oasis of a flower shop in one of the greyest parts of town. Graffiti is etched into the walls like tattoos and even caked onto the windows, though Renee makes an effort to keep those clear so her flowers will get enough sun.

“Hello, Jean,” she says, smiling at him over a sombre bucket of carnations. “Nice to see you. How was your week?”

“It was fine,” Jean says and winces. It seems he is picking up Neil’s bad habits, so he amends it to: “Eventful. How was yours?”

“Rather quiet,” Renee grins. “Would you like to tell me about it?”

Jean tells her, in bits and pieces, as he helps her close up the shop. Renee threads a silky white gardenia through his buttonhole and deftly secures it. Her own blazer sports a cheeky violet today and Renee’s chin dimples when she sees Jean looking.

“Violets are supposed to signify love between women,” she explains. “The idea originated with Sappho, I believe.”

“Oh,” Jean says, flustered. He can feel his face heating up and tries to gather his composure by adjusting his already perfect gardenia.

“Oscar Wilde often wore a green carnation on his lapel,” Renee says slyly. “Should I give you one next time so we can match?”

“Well. Perhaps,” Jean admits. “To tell the truth, though, I do not have a preference for any one gender.”

“I’m not sure Oscar Wilde did, either,” Renee laughs. “I’ll have to read up on that.”

“So do I, apparently.”

Tonight’s entertainment of Jean’s choosing is a performance of Swan Lake. It’s a—not _revenge_ exactly, but a deliberate counterpoint to last week, when Renee spirited him away to a wrestling match and made him suffer through a night of stale beer, noise, sweat, and tacky, tasteless costumes. The showmanship was surprisingly good, he has to give her that, but Jean would still rather pay for the expensive ballet tickets and enjoy a more civilised event from the comfort of a plush velvet gallery seat any time.

He is secretly mourning the absence of greasy snacks when Renee leans over to show him a sneaky bag of tiny chocolate Easter eggs squirrelled away in her handbag.

“Are you quite sure I cannot convince you to divorce your wife and marry me instead?” he checks, accepting one of the eggs.

“Quite sure,” Renee says, amused. “Rest assured you are my second-best friend after Andrew, though.”

“And you mine, after Neil,” Jean replies, permitting himself a small smile.

“Hush now, it’s starting,” Renee whispers. “Don’t tell me who the murderer is, I want to figure it out for myself.”

“There is no-”

“I said hush.”

*

He finds Neil in greenhouse six with a sketchbook, a look of concentration on his face.

“So, how was it?” Jean asks. Neil’s hand jumps and the pencil he’s holding makes an ungainly squiggle across his drawing. It’s a crane flower; the distinctive, bird beak-like shape immediately giving it away even without the tell-tale orange and purple colouring.

“Seriously, how are you always so quiet?” Neil grouses. “And how was what?”

“Your little kitty date with Minyard,” Jean says. He refuses to sit on the ground with Neil but standing over him is awkward too, so he compromises by perching on a nearby bench that’s tucked away at the back of the greenhouse. “I haven’t seen you at all since. I was starting to worry he had kidnapped and or murdered you. It’s his day off by the way, so if you were hoping to see him…”

“Oh, I know. I temporarily moved into his apartment so I could look after the cats while he’s at work. It’s lucky I have night shifts.”

“You what,” Jean blurts out. Neil calmly starts another sketch.

“It’s just until we don’t have to feed them all the time anymore. I think. We haven’t really talked about it yet.”

“You moved in with Minyard,” Jean says, baffled. “You talked to the guy once, and now you’re living together? Raising two furry little babies?”

“What?” Neil frowns. “Wait, no. Andrew and I have been talking and stuff for months. I thought you knew.”

“You thought I- how would I have known? Did you think Minyard is in the habit of talking to me about his private life? He doesn’t even say good morning to Boyd. Not even I am immune to Matt Boyd, Neil.”

“Ah,” Neil says, biting his lip. “Whoops?”

Jean pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out slowly.

“So,” he says, fishing for composure. “So you and Minyard have been… talking.”

“And stuff,” Neil adds, nodding.

“Stuff?”

“You know. Kissing and stuff.”

“Sweet mother of god,” Jean mutters under his breath. “You spent all that time breaking into the garden to ogle him… I thought you just had a stupid crush.”

“I do,” Neil grins happily. “You of all people should know that I don’t just crush on random strangers, though. Besides, I come here to visit you. Getting to see Andrew at work all sweaty and dirty is just a bonus.”

“You are the worst best friend,” Jean laments. “I should demote you and replace you with Renee.”

“Nah, Andrew has dibs on her. You’re stuck with me.”

“You owe me dinner,” Jean sniffs, standing up.

“Even better,” Neil says and pulls something out of his beat-up messenger bag. “I brought tea.”

*

Neil, cunning bastard that he is, walks with him all the way to the diner before informing him that he needs to get back to Andrew and the cats.

“Enjoy your dinner though,” he says, pushing a few rolled up bills into Jean’s hand. “And tell Jeremy I said hello.”

“I hate you,” Jean tells him.

“After everything I do for you?” Neil gasps. “That’s rude. And hurtful.”

“Says the one who kept me in the dark about having a sordid affair with my least palatable colleague.”

“A sordid affair that also involves bottle-feeding newborn kittens,” Neil corrects smugly. “Don’t be jealous, Jean. Your beau awaits. You two could adopt puppies together, you know he loves dogs.”

He sticks around until Jean is inside the diner and has been spotted by Jeremy before disappearing. The beau in question—shining knight in a grease-stained apron that he is—makes a beeline straight for Jean’s table, his bleached afro framing his face like some sort of overgrown halo, aflame in the bright light of the diner.

“Neil not joining you tonight?” Jeremy asks, plopping a cup of black coffee on the table for Jean.

“As a matter of fact,” Jean says, “I have been abandoned.”

“Oh man, that sucks.”

“Quite.”

They regard each other for a moment. Jeremy tucks a strand of hair behind his ear that immediately springs back up.

“So…” he starts.

“Yes?” Jean prompts, holding on to his coffee cup for dear life.

“What will it be?” Jeremy finishes somewhat weakly, digging his notepad out of the pocket of his apron even though he never needs it anyway. Jean swallows the bitter taste in his mouth and glances at today’s chalkboard menu, written in Jeremy’s looping, exuberant hand.

“The fruit salad, with extra cream if it’s not too much trouble.”

“For you? Never,” Jeremy smiles. “Coming right up.”

He books it to the kitchen to place Jean’s order. Jean sinks into his seat and waits, hands wrapped around his coffee, but it’s Alvarez who brings his food over. The fruit salad is studded with fresh berries and comes with a side of chai-spiced whipped cream and lavender syrup. It’s an unusual item on the menu and Jean wonders for a fleeting moment if it was created specifically for him.

“Enjoy your meal,” Alvarez chirps and hands over a spoon and fork wrapped in a napkin. Jean blinks down at the unnecessarily fancy presentation but Alvarez is gone before he can ask her about it. Normally the napkins are inside a tacky napkin holder on the counter and you have to get them yourself.

Carefully, he unwraps the cutlery and smooths out the napkin on the table. There’s a phone number on it, in the same fanciful handwriting as the daily specials menu on the chalkboard. Jean stares at it for a moment, then folds it up into a small triangle and tucks it into his pocket.

As much as it pains him to admit, but he may owe Neil a bit more than a cup of tea for this.

**Author's Note:**

> The second giveaway fic will be posted some time next week!
> 
> If you like my content, consider leaving kudos and/or a comment, subscribe to me here on AO3 or check out my Tumblr ([annawrites](https://annawrites.tumblr.com/))! You can reblog the post from [here](https://annawrites.tumblr.com/post/184179404894/chapters-11-fandom-all-for-the-game-nora) (and look at a collage I made to go with the fic).


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